


Prompt 1: Too Hot!

by irrationalgame



Series: Thommy Comfortween Prompts [1]
Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Comfortween, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Prompt Fill, Thommy - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-01
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-03-08 02:06:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26757724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irrationalgame/pseuds/irrationalgame
Summary: For the comfortween challenge over at: https://hurtcomfortex.dreamwidth.org/22946.htmlPrompt 1: Too Hot!Helping someone cool down, treating heat exhaustion/heatstroke, cool cloth for fever, treating sunburn.Jimmy gets sunburn and it falls to a certain under-butler to help him out.
Relationships: Thomas Barrow/Jimmy Kent
Series: Thommy Comfortween Prompts [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1949317
Comments: 8
Kudos: 45
Collections: Comfortween 2020





	Prompt 1: Too Hot!

**Author's Note:**

> Unbeta’d and written in like two hours 😬

The summer had been one for the record books; a six week stretch of long, blazingly hot days and clammy nights with barely a breeze or a drop of rain to take the edge off. The usually verdant lawns and gardens of the Abbey had withered to a dismal brown, despite the gardener’s best efforts with the hosepipe and the upstairs lot had taken to dining outside under a great, white gazebo, in order to combat the extreme heat.

Jimmy thought perhaps they should just take off their white ties and dinner jackets, but what did he know.

And of course, the downstairs lot were much worse off, as always. The servant’s hall was a greenhouse and Mrs Patmore’s temper was as hot as the weather - Jimmy had been yelled at by the ruddy-faced cook three times already and it wasn’t even lunchtime. Up in the attic the bedrooms, which were usually unpleasantly draughty and cold in the winter, had been transformed to into miniature ovens, making sleep an impossible, sweaty affair.

And serving, bedecked in the black and green livery, was tantamount to torture.

Mr Barrow was the only person who seemed as unruffled as ever by the heatwave.

“I like the sun,” he’d explained with a shrug. He’d been taking his breaks out in the yard, his tails slung over the bench and his face turned up towards the warmth of the sun. His usually porcelain skin had developed a soft glow and there was a scattering of faint freckles across his nose and cheeks.

It made Jimmy sweat more than the weather.

Thus, Jimmy was absolutely thrilled when it was finally his half-day and he could get away from the stifling heat of the Abbey and Mr Barrow’s distracting sunbathing. He planned to spend his time lazing around in a shady spot somewhere, drinking lemonade with his shirtsleeves rolled up and as many buttons undone as he could get away with.

He ventured as far into the Abbey’s sprawling grounds as he could bear before shrugging off his jacket, his collar already slick with sweat. He ripped off his tie like it was a boa around his neck and popped his dad’s old cufflinks out of his shirt, rolling up his sleeves as he walked.

There was a small stream that wound around the edge of the estate and Jimmy threw his jacket down under a twisted old Sycamore tree that was growing along the bank. There was a ghost of a breeze coming off the stream and Jimmy had the urge to tear off all his clothes and run full pelt into the clear, cool water. He settled for stripping off his shirt entirely and flopping down under the tree - he was so far into the unfarmed boondocks of the estate that it was unlikely anyone would see him.

And so what if they did? It wasn’t exactly an unpleasant sight and no doubt they’d survive it.

He closed his eyes against the blinding sun and was quickly lulled to sleep by the soporific combination of finally being comfortable and the gentle sound of the stream trickling by.

Jimmy’s first thought when he opened his eyes was that someone had poured a pot of boiling water on him. Of course, that wasn’t the case - he’d simply slept so long that the sun had moved across the sky and the shadow cast by the tree had moved with it, leaving him exposed to the afternoon sun. He grimaced - his skin was practically glowing and putting his shirt back on was akin to rubbing himself with wire wool. The trek back to the Abbey was excruciating.

Of course, it happened to be Mr Barrow who saw him first. He was leaning against a wall in a sunny spot in the back courtyard, a cigarette hanging from his mouth.

“What’s happened to your face?” he said, his brow creased in concern.

“Bloody fell asleep in the sun, didn’t I?”

“Carson won’t be happy.”

“Not as unhappy as I am, I can guarantee that,” Jimmy replied, leaning on the wall beside the under-butler. “Ouch, bloody hell.”

Mr Barrow handed him a cigarette, “What’s the matter now?”

“I uh, I might’ve taken me shirt off for a bit and uh, let’s just say me face isn’t the only part of me that’s like a bloody lobster.”

Thomas just raised his eyebrows at that and said; “You can’t serve in that state. I’ll cover for you tonight. You should take a cold bath or something.”

“But Mr Carson...”

“I’ll deal with Carson,” Thomas cast the still-glowing end of his cigarette into a corner of the yard. “Go on before I change my mind.”

Jimmy took Thomas’s advice and escaped up to his room before anyone else saw him. He ran a particularly deep and cool bath and spent an hour smoking and soaking. When he finally emerged from the tub he caught sight of his naked body in the mirror and let out a gasp - he looked like a bar of pink and white nougat; red from his forehead to his navel, with a perfect tide-mark down his side and a pale back. If it hadn’t been so hot and painful he’d have laughed.

Even his softest cotton pyjamas felt like barbed wire so he settled for staying naked from the waist up and lay carefully on his back. If he didn’t move at all it was bearable.

He dozed for a while until the commotion of everyone going to up bed roused him. He felt much worse, as if his skin had been lit on fire, and even soaking himself with a cool washcloth from his vanity did nothing to ease the burn. He made the mistake of scratching a particularly sore area on his shoulder and gave a great and embarrassing shriek of pain that was probably heard all the way down in the village.

Predictably there was a knock at his bedroom door a few moments later - probably Carson coming to tell him to shut up. Jimmy was surprised to find Mr Barrow standing in the corridor in his pyjamas, looking decidedly worried. His eyes flicked down over Jimmy’s bare torso and back up to his burned face and Jimmy felt his stomach turn a cartwheel.

“You alright?” he said.

“No,” Jimmy admitted, “I’m bloody not alright. I’m going to spontaneously combust or summat, it’s unbearable.”

“Sorry,” the under-butler said, as if he were somehow responsible.

“You were a medic weren’t you?” Jimmy asked, “You must know something that’ll help. Please.” He hated being so vulnerable in front of Thomas, but was in such agony he’d have let Old Molesley rub lotion on him if he’d have thought it would’ve eased the pain.

Thomas thought for a moment then said; “Me mam used to make a cornstarch and milk poultice for burns, bites and chickenpox. I can make it if you’d like?”

“I’ll try anything,” Jimmy replied.

Thomas returned five minutes later with one of Patmore’s mixing bowls full of white paste. He said; “Put that all over the burns and leave it to harden. Then wash it off with cool water.”

“But,” Jimmy started, “I feel all sick and woozy - couldn’t you, y’know, help me?” It wasn’t a lie, he probably had sunstroke too, but it wasn’t the full truth either. Ever since _The Incident_ Thomas never so much as touched Jimmy, even though all that business was water under the bridge as far as Jimmy was concerned. This would be the perfect opportunity to show Thomas that he really didn’t have to be so standoffish.

“You want _me_ to apply _that_ to _you_?” Thomas pulled a face, “I don’t think you want _my_ help with that Jimmy.”

“Please, Thomas - we’re mates aren’t we?” Jimmy pleaded, “And who else in this house would help me anyway?”

Thomas was clearly uncomfortable but he sighed and motioned to be let in to Jimmy’s room. Jimmy closed the door behind them and lay down on the bed - Thomas stood in the centre of the room like a lost child, cradling the poultice.

“Are you just going to stand there or?” Jimmy motioned to his crimson torso.

“Sorry,” Thomas started, “this is - I mean I haven’t been in here since. Well. You know.”

“Oh,” Jimmy said.

“And it’s - well, it’s a lapse in judgement I’d rather forget to be honest,” he said with a tight smile.

“It’s forgotten,” Jimmy lied. He’d never forget the feeing of Thomas’s mouth against his for the rest of his life, but not because he was disgusted or traumatised or whatever twaddle Thomas thought he felt. But rather because it was the best kiss he’d ever had, which was pretty pathetic if you considered he was half-asleep and bloody Alfred was there.

He’d spent a lot of time wondering what would’ve happened if Alfred hadn’t been there.

“Honestly Mr Barrow, get over here before I _die_ ,” Jimmy said and Thomas crossed the room with the grim finality of a man walking to his execution.

“This will be cold,” Thomas said, rolling up the sleeves of his pyjamas and perching on the edge of the bed.

“Good.”

“And a bit unpleasant.”

“Not as unpleasant as being burned alive.”

“Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“Will you bloody get on with it?!”

Thomas raised one eyebrow archly and dumped a great handful of the poultice on Jimmy’s stomach. The footman near jumped clean off the bed and Thomas suppressed a snigger.

“Here I am,” Jimmy pouted, “near death and you’re making jokes at my expense. I think you need to work on your bedside manner.”

Thomas disguised a laugh with a cough; “Yes sorry. I’ll carry on then, if it pleases the patient?”

Jimmy closed his eyes and nodded. Thomas was incredibly gentle and conscientious as he smoothed the paste over Jimmy’s stomach, chest, arms and neck. He even smeared a thick stripe of the stuff over Jimmy’s sore nose and cheekbones. The sensation of the gloopy poultice was, well, revolting, but it was having the desired effect and cooling down the burned areas. The feeling of Thomas’s hands ghosting over his skin however was doing the exact _opposite_ of cooling him off.

Jimmy cracked on eye open. “I bet I look bloody ridiculous,” he said.

“Me mam said if you didn’t have anything nice to say, then you shouldn’t say anything at all,” Thomas replied with a smirk.

“Funny, you’ve never been one to follow that advice before.”

That earned him a proper smile from the under-butler. Thomas was the only person who actually enjoyed Jimmy’s nasty streak.

“Well this has got to be one of the strangest things I’ve ever done, if I’m honest,” Thomas said, wiping his hands on Jimmy’s washcloth.

“Oh I doubt that Mr Barrow,” Jimmy laughed, the half-dry poultice on his face cracking.

“I think, once someone has had cornflour and milk smeared on them by my own hand, they have earned the right to call me Thomas,” Thomas said, “not when we’re serving of course.”

“Of course, _Thomas_ ,” Jimmy said coolly, but his heart was racing - Thomas didn’t let just anyone call him by his given name.

They chatted amiably and smoked Thomas’s cigarettes for a while until the dried poultice became uncomfortably tight and itchy.

“Time to get that off, I think,” Thomas said around his cigarette.

Perhaps it was the heatstroke, but Jimmy felt particularly bold and said; “Are you going to help get me, I mean _it_ off then?”

Thomas didn’t rise to the bait though. “You’ll need another bath to get that off. Seeing as I’m playing nurse I’ll run you one, just this once.” He pointed a finger at Jimmy, “But don’t go tellin’ anyone, you’ll ruin my reputation as a heartless bastard.”

Thomas helped Jimmy walk stiffly down the corridor, little bits of dried poultice falling behind them like breadcrumbs. Jimmy leaned against the cold tiles and watched as Thomas started filling the bath with cool water.

“You’re not a heartless bastard though, are you?” Jimmy said. It made his own heart ache to know that Thomas thought that about himself.

Thomas gave a noncommittal shrug.

“I mean,” Jimmy continued, “you care about people really.”

“Do I?”

“You care about the children, for some reason.” Jimmy was not personally a fan of the smallest residents of Downton.

Thomas nodded, “I like children. They don’t - they don’t just assume the worst about me like everyone else does. They don’t know or care that I’m different.”

“I don’t care.”

Thomas snorted in disbelief.

“I don’t,” Jimmy insisted, “maybe once I did, a little, but I didn’t - I didn’t know you and I didn’t know it was, y’know...” he trailed off.

“What?”

“I didn’t know you loved me,” Jimmy finished. He picked at a bit off the dried on poultice so he didn’t have to look at Thomas.

Silence, except for the running tap.

“Can we talk about something else?” Thomas said.

“I want to talk about this.”

“Well I bloody don’t, alright?” Thomas turned off the tap a tad too vigorously.

“Thomas,” Jimmy started but Thomas held up his hand to stop him.

“Look, I know you’re trying to be, I dunno, a mate or whatever,” Thomas fumbled in his pockets for a cigarette to give his hands something to do, “but you - you say you don’t care but - you do. You’d never trust me or treat me like you would, I don’t know, Alfred or someone.”

“I should hope I treat you better than that great ginger git.”

“You know what I mean,” Thomas shook his head. “Sometimes I think I should just leave you alone. I make you uncomfortable.”

“Would I do this if you made me uncomfortable?” Jimmy said as he undid his buttons and let his trousers and underwear fall to the bathroom floor. Thomas’s mouth dropped open and he looked away, his cheeks pink, as Jimmy climbed into the bathtub.

“That’s one way to end an argument I suppose,” Thomas sighed, lighting two cigarettes and handing one off to Jimmy.

“I wonder if it’d work on Carson?”

“If you wanted to be thrown out into the night in your birthday suit,” Thomas said.

Jimmy swabbed at himself with the washcloth and grimaced - the cornflour mess had softened but didn’t seem to want to wash away.

“Let me do that will ya?” Thomas said, “You’re going to make yourself sore scrubbing at it like that. You have to be gentle to wash it off, it just seizes up if you’re rough with it.”

Jimmy handed over the washcloth and leaned back against the rim of the tub as Thomas carefully cleaned the poultice off. His black hair had worked free of its pomade and fell over his forehead, a stark contrast against his skin, which the last of the evening light had made the colour of honeyed bread. He really was an incredibly handsome man; Jimmy had always thought that, though anyone with eyes could see it. The problem was the increasing rate at which he’d started to think such things about the under-butler.

Thomas leaned in close, his face only inches from Jimmy’s, and gently wiped the remaining poultice from his cheeks and nose with the pad of his thumb. Without thinking, Jimmy darted forward and kissed Thomas on the side of his mouth. Thomas shot back like a startled deer, slipped on an errant piece of soap and fell headfirst into the tub, sending a great tidal wave of water sloshing over the side.

“Thomas!” Jimmy cried and pulled the spluttering under-butler up from under the milky water. “Bloody hell, are you alright? I know you’re head over heels for me an’ all, but that was a bit much.”

Thomas broke into a ridiculous grin, the likes of which Jimmy had never seen, and huffed out a self-depreciating laugh.

“You - you kissed me,” he said.

“Did I?” Jimmy teased, “Must be the heatstroke.”

“Jimmy,” Thomas warned.

“Yes, I did and...I’ve wanted to try that for ages, to test the water so to speak,” Jimmy admitted.

“Ages?”

“Since Thirsk, or thereabouts,” Jimmy shrugged.

“And were you planning on telling me this at some point?” Thomas swept his dripping hair out of his eyes with a sopping wet sleeve.

“I’m telling you now.”

“You do pick your moments.”

“At least you’re awake,” Jimmy said and Thomas threw the washcloth at his head.

“And,” Thomas paused, gathering himself, “what’s the conclusion to this little test of yours.”

Jimmy feigned humming and hawing for a moment then said; “Jury’s still out. Think I might have to do it say, a couple of dozen more times to be certain.”

“Oh really.”

“At least a couple of dozen times. Maybe more,” Jimmy said, and grabbed Thomas by the lapels of his pyjamas. He pulled the under-butler into his lap and kissed him again, only to pull away with a wince when their noses brushed against each other.

“Bloody sunburn,” Jimmy hissed.

“I guess you’ll have to wait until it’s healed to continue the experiment,” Thomas sighed.

“I’m only burned from the waist up,” Jimmy replied, heaving himself out of the bath and treating Thomas to a view of his naked and blessedly unburned backside.

**Author's Note:**

> I’m going to try and fill as many of these prompts as I can and hopefully get my writing mojo back!


End file.
